Hmmm... I find myself wishing for more time alone lately, because my life is so filled with people. And yet when I do get one precious, glorious day by myself I am my own worst enemy. I think of all the things that sadden me.
I'm being pushed by my own psyche to abandon Facebook for one, and the social/dating site I've only recently started frequenting again after almost 10 months away from it.
There's a certain level of terror in trying to be your own favourite person. Failure to do so seems a grand one indeed. It's easier to try to be someone else's favourite person instead.
A hobby or the pursuit of a dream seems to be in order. I need to conquer this unrequited love thing that's been dogging me for the better part of 2009. People say there's always a "rebound" after you've broken-up. Well, boy did I ever fall-prey to that.
I fancy myself a writer. I aspire to write. To make it my pastime and my career, and yet my thoughts are too scattered and my discipline non-existent. Even a blog-entry of any value or coherence seems beyond me. Gotta lick this. I've been waiting for too long.
Only I can make me happy.